November 8, 2015 – Proper 27B
© 2015 Evan D. Garner
Audio of this sermon can be heard here.
A few weeks ago, someone
who has helped out several times with Wednesday-night dinners mentioned to me
that she had never seen inside our church. I smiled. “Let’s go,” I said, “right
now.” One of the privileges of working and worshipping at St. John’s is that I
get to show people how beautiful our church is. I like to bring them into this
space when it is almost dark and then watch their faces brighten and their jaws
drop as I turn on the lights and they begin to soak in the beauty of this
place. That evening was no different. Standing there, spinning around in all
directions, she kept whispering to herself, “Wow! It’s amazing! My goodness!” It
wasn’t long before we needed to head back into the kitchen, but I could tell that
all of this had left a lasting impression on her. I invited her to come back
when she would have more time to walk around and look at the windows and sit in
a pew and just be in God’s presence.
This is a remarkable church.
This is a holy place. And other people seem to notice. Over the past week and a
half, St. John’s has been featured in the Decatur
Daily several times. First, there was the picture of the staff dressed up
as the Addams Family—no mistake for holiness there. But then it was an image of
two of our windows, one of St. John and one of St. Stephen, two of the saints
whom we celebrated on All Saints’ Day. I knew in advance that those pictures
would run, but there was another one that I didn’t expect to see. Gary Cosby’s “Behind the Lens” feature showcased a photograph of a window from our chapel—a clear-glass,
cruciform window with the open lectern bible beneath it.
As the photographer explained in his description of the picture, he didn’t expect to find the subject for his last ever feature in the Daily there, but, when he “stumbled across it,” he knew it was the image that captured his feeling that God had “opened a door” for him to come here twenty-one years ago and was opening a new door as he prepared to leave. What a remarkable sentiment! Although I see that spot in our church several times every week, it still surprised me to see it in the paper. I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t expecting to see such a clear and perfectly composed expression of holiness in a spot I see (and take for granted) all of the time. It’s funny, isn’t it, how God shows up even where we don’t expect to see him.
What about you: where do
you see God? Where do you see him at work? Where do you look for him? Where do
you expect to find him? And where is it that he surprises you when he shows up?
Today’s gospel lesson is
all about God showing up in surprising places. It’s about seeing God at work in
surprising ways. It’s about finding God where you least expect him, and
learning to look for him when he is hiding in plain sight.
A scribe and a widow. Try
to see them through the lens of ancient history. One is dressed in finest
linen, and the other is covered in a tatter shroud. One walks about smiling and
waving and nodding his head when others say hello, and the other keeps to
herself, with her head bowed, shuffling her feet as she goes. One is figure of
power and control, and the other is an emblem of helplessness and hopelessness.
One is rich, and the other is poor. One knows that his future is secure, and
the other just hopes to make it until tomorrow. One gives the appearance of
success, and the other is a symbol of failure. One is respected—even revered—by
his peers, and the other is avoided as a reminder of what life could be like if
everything went wrong. One enjoys a life of blessing, and the other lives a
life of daily struggle and suffering. One teaches God’s precepts in the temple,
and the other is the definition of one from whom God’s blessing has been
withdrawn. Looking through the eyes of one of Jesus’ contemporaries, where
would you expect to see holiness? Or what about using your modern sight? If
these two characters were found in downtown Decatur, whom would you expect to
be an example of how God is working in the world?
All of us are familiar
enough with the Christian story to know the “right” answer. We know that God
loves the underdog. We know that God delights in the poor and the oppressed,
the widow and the orphan. We know that Jesus teaches us, “Blessed are the poor,
for theirs is the kingdom of God; blessed are those who mourn, for they shall
be comforted; blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” We know
all that. We know that, in the gospel, rich and powerful and religious is
almost always a recipe for criticism. So why, then, are we still surprised when
God shows up where we least expect it?
Where should we look for
God? Who among us is the real symbol of holiness? Is it not the single mother
who works two jobs so that her children can have a decent place to live? What
about the alcoholic who has been sober for three days and wants the world to
know how thankful he is to be alive? And don’t forget about the curmudgeonly
ninety-year-old woman at the nursing home who smells funny and isn’t very nice and
always wants tells you the same story about how much she loved her husband
before he died. If you stopped long enough to listen—if you took enough time to
look below the surface—isn’t that where you would find God at work—in the
tough, hard places where hope is the only thing left for people to cling to?
Do not look for God in people
or in places where holiness is only skin-deep. God is not at work when an image
of godliness is only projected for its own sake. In fact, as the example of the
scribes teaches us, the pretense of holiness can actually work against God and
what God wants for the world. No matter how beautiful this place is, God will
not be at work here unless we care more about the poor than about ourselves. No
matter how diligent we are in going to church and saying our prayers, we will
not be holy until our hearts belong first and foremost to those who cling to
hope.
Look around. Look at this
place. Look at us. Look at what we’re wearing. Listen to our long prayers. Like
it or not, we are the scribes. But that doesn’t mean that we aren’t searching
for holiness. Where will we find it? If God is with the widow and the orphan,
the addict and the prisoner, we will not find him until we learn to look through
the eyes of those who have given up everything. We will not find holiness until
we learn to let go of everything that we have and join those who live where our
Lord is to be found. May everything we do and everything we give be about the
work of the gospel. May all our offerings be devoted to the work of Jesus.
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